


a rare occurence

by simplyclockwork



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:35:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, John's right, and Sherlock just isn't listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a rare occurence

"Sherlock, would you just  _listen_ ?" John was frustrated; he shoved his hands into his hair, and tugged. For once--for perhaps the very first time since moving into 221B--he was  _right_ . And Sherlock  _was not listening._

  
"Hush, John--I'm thinking." Sherlock wiggled his fingers, dismissing his partner, and John sighed, folding his arms over his chest. 

"Fine." He turned swiftly, and marched away from the crime scene, towards a small coffee shop just off the main road. Here, he secluded himself, and sat in a pout, sipping at a mug of bitterly strong coffee. He stared out the window; sat for half an hour, and ordered another coffee when the waitress popped by for a flirt. It wasn't long after when a tall, pink-faced form materialized through the fog on the window; John scraped his palm against the condensation, revealing Sherlock, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind. The bell above the door dinged, and the detective entered; spotted John, and made a slow, reluctant beeline towards him.

"Cold." The detective announced, plopping down on the stool beside the army-doctor. John smiled slightly; slid the second mug of coffee towards his flatmate, eliciting a mild 'thanks' from Sherlock. He tugged off his scarf; hung his jacket over the back of the stool, and curled his long fingers around his mug. They sat in silence for a moment, John looking out at the street, and Sherlock letting the steam from the coffee puff into his face.

"Solve the case, then?" John asked casually; turned his face towards Sherlock. The detective was taking a sip from the mug. He pulled a face, and set it down on the table quickly.

"Vulgar." He muttered, then looked to John. His face reddened slightly.

"Ah--yes, I did." He fiddled with the salt shaker, his eyes sliding away. He cleared his throat. "Turns out you were... right." 

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He waited; Sherlock sighed and nodded, looking put out. John forced down a laugh.

"Well, first for everything, right?" What he really wanted to say was  _I told you so,_ but Sherlock already looked quite crestfallen at being wrong. John resisted the urge to rub it in--well, resisted a little. "Guess even us simpletons have our moments, hm?"

Sherlock pulled a face; pushed the coffee cup halfway across the table, forcing John to catch it before it skated off the edge; crashed on the floor. He placed it beside his own, and leaned his cheek on his hand, regarding Sherlock with mild amusement. 

"John, I didn't mean..." Sherlock grimaced, and shrugged, before bursting into quick, uneven speech: "All right, you were right, I was wrong, it happens. And I apologize, and such, and can we please never speak of it again?" John settled back in his chair; folded his arms over his chest.

"No, Sherlock." The detective looked surprised, then sighed, looking resigned to a scolding. John leaned forward, brushing the back of Sherlock's hands with his fingers, and locked eyes with this flatmate. "I know you perceive the world's general population as complete morons, but--"

"Not entirely accurate, John." Sherlock interrupted, frowning. "I do not view you as a moron. While I may sometimes slip, and insult your level of intelligence, it's only because you're not at the same level as I. No one is, to be frank, except perhaps Mycroft. But I would prefer death over admission of such a fact, and--"

John planted his hand over the other man's wandering mouth; frowned. "Shut up a second, I'm trying to make a point." Sherlock looked surprised, and nodded, subsiding into a sullen silence. John smiled slightly; went on.

"What I'm saying is, you can go ahead and insult everyone as much as you want--since I know you damn well won't listen to me if I tell you to stop," He paused as Sherlock opened his mouth once again, and he fixed the detective with a sharp look. The mouth closed, and John continued. "But it would be nice if you at least made an effort to  _listen_ to me, once in a while?" It ended up a question; he hadn't meant it to be. He sighed; folded his hands together on the table. "I mean, the relationship we have... I would think that my opinion might mean something to you?" Another question, and he felt his cheeks burning slightly as Sherlock fixed him with a grave look.

"Of course I value your opinion, John." Sherlock said with an air of great seriousness. "And while I may not exactly make that clear at times, it still remains a truth."

John chuckled, then shook his head. "Well, then--what about out there?" He waved his hand towards the window, and Sherlock flicked his fingers dismissively. 

"That was merely a lapse. I already said that I--"

"But Sherlock, I was  _right._ " John pushed, eyebrows dropping in a slight scowl. "I was bloody well  _right,_ and you  _know_ how rare that is with you." He sighed; sat back, and drummed his fingers against the table. "It's bloody frustrating, you know?" 

Sherlock leaned forward; put his hands over John's, stilling the incessant tapping. "And it was  _brilliant."_ He smiled as John's face went red with the compliment he himself usually paid Sherlock; John turned his head and cleared his throat.

"Well--now you're just saying that so I won't go home angry, and possibly throw out the body parts in the vegetable crisper." 

Sherlock's teeth sawed at his bottom lip, and he cracked a grin. "Partly that, yes. But partly because..." he leaned forward; ignored the public surroundings, and pressed a persistent kiss to his flatmate's mouth; even went so far as to trace the shape of John's lips with the tip of his tongue, before the army-doctor nudged him away.

"Shove off, Sherlock! We're in public!" His face had gone a rather brilliant shade of red, and Sherlock couldn't resist the amused tug that curved his lips at the corners.

"Then I guess we had better pay for the coffee and head towards the flat, yes?" Sherlock stood, looking down at a flustered John, and offered his hand. "Or have I deduced wrong?"

John was on his feet, his hand gripping Sherlock's, and his breathing suddenly off-rhythm. 

"Got any change? I forgot my wallet." 

Sherlock dug through his pockets, and grinned.

"Not a cent." 


End file.
